Impassionate
by write-love-latte
Summary: Ginny Weasley is intrigued when she chances a glimpse of Draco Malfoy mounting his broom. Fascinated, she attempts to get a closer look. Sweet little two-part romance; read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Impassionate

**Summary: Ginny Weasley is intrigued when she chances a glimpse of Draco Malfoy mounting his broom. When he flies he is impassionate, but Ginny will soon learn that "impassionate" can mean different things. **

| PART I |

It all began early on in the year, with a very typical disagreement between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin Quidditch teams. For the entire first month of school, both groups had unexplainably double-booked the field for their practices. Neither of the team captains could explain it, but Harry had confided in her that he believed the Slytherins were doing it on purpose. Whatever the reason, it had led to one too many fights and so many detentions that the professors were running out of punishments to give. Not to mention the fact that neither team, to everyone's consternation, had managed a single moment of worthwhile practice a whole four weeks into the Quidditch season, and the first games of the year for both teams were coming up.

The Hospital Wing had been crammed with bruised Quidditch players after the last spat between the two sides. Ginny herself had shared one of the small cots with Harry, Ron, and Seamus, all of them seated close together like a group of children who had done wrong and holding icepacks to their myriad bruised body parts. Madam Pomfrey had bustled about, flustered and unhappy, healing broken bones and concussions first. On the other side of the Wing, as far away from the Gryffindors as possible, the Slytherins had continued taunting and jeering, though they also whined a lot louder about injuries that were no worse than what the Gryffindors had sustained.

Snape and McGonagall had stridden into the room then, a flurry of black robes and exasperation. The entire ward was immediately hushed except for the sound of Madam Pomfrey muttering spells under her breath. She was the only one who did not look up, dutifully and somewhat obliviously continuing her work; everyone else present seemed wide-eyed, frozen with guilt and trepidation. There was nothing for anyone to say in defense of their actions. After the first, second, even after the third time, excuses had been offered, pleas had been given, and fingers had been pointed. Now, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike knew that they had finally gone too far.

Snape's mouth was pressed into a thin, severe line. McGonagall's deeply wrinkled face seemed stern and hard. Her voice was like iron when she spoke. "For the rest of the year, the Slytherin and the Gryffindor Quidditch teams will share the Quidditch pitch. If you all so much as brush past each other's brooms, Slytherin and Gryffindor will no longer have Quidditch teams. And that includes when you are off the field. Is that understood?"

Several jaws dropped in the shocked silence. Eyes bulged. It seemed like no one was breathing. Some of the Slytherins seemed to be looking to Snape, as though hoping he would intervene on their behalf and somehow veto this ridiculous and impossible sentence. He stared them all down equally, his arms crossed over his chest and his black eyes narrowed dangerously, as if daring them to ask him for help. There was a long pause, and then finally he drawled, "One hundred points from Gryffindor. One hundred points from Slytherin. That will be all."

The two professors strode out and all hell broke loose in the Hospital Wing—at least as close to hell as one could get without touching the opponent.

* * *

The next week, Ginny had trudged out onto the field with the rest of the Gryffindor Team, her scarf pulled up to her chin against the cold. Autumn was in full swing and the air had a dry chill to it that reddened her cheeks and made her shiver. Despite that, the day was clear, the sky blue and the sun bright. It was a beautiful day to get into the air and finally do some practice. She and her teammates gathered around Harry for their briefing.

It had taken both teams every minute of the past week to recover from the implications of McGonagall's punishment, and while most seemed to be coping with it, Ginny knew that Harry, as team captain, was still reeling. Nevertheless, he put on a brave front. "I spoke to Malfoy and we've agreed to split the pitch down the center. Unfortunately that means we only get to practice on half the pitch, but luckily it also lessens the chance of us encountering any…problems." There were some groans at this news, but Ginny nodded. That was the most practical solution.

Ginny glanced over to the other side of the arena where the Slytherins were gathered, gesturing and conversing loudly while pointedly ignoring the presence of the Gryffindors. They were just mounting their brooms when Ginny's eyes fell on their captain, kicking his leg over the newest model of the Firebolt. Her eyes widened as she watched him get into position, then kick off and into the air.

"Come on, Ginny!" Seamus called from above, and Ginny realized that most of her own team was already hovering a few meters above her.

"Sorry!" she shouted back, quickly straddling her own broom and soaring up to join them.

Yet Ginny inexplicably found her eyes floating back to where the Slytherins played a makeshift Quidditch match. Her brows were furrowed and her knuckles white on her broom as she searched for a glimpse of their captain. However, the Snitch had taken him beyond her sight and, when she nearly got hit in the face with a Bludger, she decided that the distraction was not worth a broken nose.

Later that same evening, Ginny found herself curled up in a chair at the library, her knees resting against the table and a book on the basics of Quidditch propped open on her lap. Abandoned before her was her Charms homework, half finished, with a quill still half-heartedly dripping ink onto the forgotten essay. Luna read quietly beside her, her own assignment similarly flouted. Hermione raised her head from her own work occasionally to glare at them both from across the table.

At long last, the bushy-haired brunette cleared her throat. When she received no reaction from her companions, she began, "I wish you two would actually do your homework, you know. Snorelags don't exist, Luna. And Ginny, I think you know enough about Quidditch to start your own school. Give it a break!"

Luna only huffed tiredly at the bossy girl's rant, never looking up from her book. Ginny frowned, some of her confusion settling on her face. "I love Quidditch, Herms," she said, "but I don't know enough about it. I saw something today that I can't explain." Hermione gave her a frustrated sigh and then dove back into her work. Ginny continued to peruse the section on how to properly mount a broom.

* * *

At the next practice, Ginny watched Malfoy climb onto his broom yet again and she sucked a breath in between her teeth, flabbergasted. When he stomped one foot firmly down onto the ground, propelling himself upward, her jaw dropped and remained open. She quickly lost him as both teams put their balls into play, but today she was determined to see him in the air. As she soared restlessly around the Gryffindor side of the pitch, struggling to find him in the chaos of the Slytherin practice game, a Bludger did hit her this time, squarely in the ribs.

The trek to the Hospital Wing that day was one of the most agonizing and mortifying journeys of Ginny's life. With an arm slung around both Ron and Dean's shoulders, Ginny walked gingerly, fighting the urge to curl up and clutch her undoubtedly fractured ribs. Meanwhile, Harry lectured her mercilessly on paying attention to her surroundings. The train of concerned Gryffindors that followed behind them couldn't help but snicker when he insinuated that Ginny had, in fact, flown directly into the Bludger and not the other way around. Despite this, with her face red and eyes filled with tears, Ginny said nothing—her mind was still back on what had caused this whole debacle in the first place.

In one of the lumpy Hospital Wing beds that night—the rib had in fact been broken, and so she had to spend the night as it regrew—Ginny dreamt of a faceless, blonde Quidditch player decked in a green and silver uniform. There was a sense of confidence in the way he stood, his upright broom held by one hand. Even the way he placed it horizontally before him, balancing it on some invisible, perfect line, seemed self-assured. When he swung a leg over it, it was as though the movement was effortless and yet somehow measured. And when he took the air, the way he flew, the stillness of his body atop his broom, the barely perceptible movements he used to control it, it was all—

"Impassionate," Ginny gasped, as she woke with a start. The word seemed to hang before her in the silence of the empty Hospital Wing.

* * *

She had to see him fly. She knew it even as she paced the floor of her empty Dormitory a few days later, barefoot and distraught. It would be half a week until the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams had their next practices. Ginny rubbed her ribs sheepishly, mentally deciding that observing Malfoy during practice, or even during a game, would be far too risky to try again. What she wanted was to view him unobstructed and without worry.

She bit her lip. She wanted to sit in the stands and have him fly around the pitch for her. It was absurd because she was a flier and her instinct was to be in the sky as well, but there was something about the way Malfoy handled himself that necessitated careful consideration. And, damnit, she knew she'd be ridiculed by her team for this uncanny obsession with Malfoy's flying style, but Slytherin was their only real competition, and the more you knew…

She clapped her hands onto her cheeks, decided. Hurrying over to her desk, she scribbled a short note down onto a scrap of parchment, and then slipped on her shoes. She was headed to the West Tower to find Pigwidgeon.

* * *

The next day, Ginny crouched in the Quidditch stands. Though she rubbed her hands together and puffed her breath out to warm her fingers, she was filled with excitement. It was cold and gloomy, with a sharp wind that whistled through the benches this high—but it would be worth it as long as Malfoy showed up. Her anonymous request had been met with a curt but neatly written reply delivered by an intimidating hunting owl. _I'll be there_. She shivered half from the chill and half from anticipation. She had tamped down her nervousness. She was well-concealed here.

Cautiously, she raised herself from her bent position to peer out over a bench. Her heart thudded to a stop when she saw him, a lone speck walking out onto the field. He wore his Slytherin Quidditch gear and held his broom in hand. Clamping her hand over her mouth to conceal her squeal of delight, Ginny hurriedly returned to squatting. She wanted to see him mount his broom, but leaning out over the bench like that hazarded discovery. She would be able to see him perfectly once he took to the sky, anyway.

And, thank Merlin; he wasted no time in doing that. It seemed like only moments later that he bolted upward, his robes billowing around him as he gained elevation. Ginny watched him, enraptured, not just by the flawless lines he made as he flew, both in terms of form and function, but by the expression on his face, which she could just make out from her hiding place. He was perfectly calm, focused, totally in control of his broom and himself. If he enjoyed flying or if he hated it, she did not know, because nothing showed on his face.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. When she flew, she was a flurry of unnecessary movements, of flushed cheeks and wild hair. Although she had been flying brooms since she was a child, she still wobbled sometimes. She was sure that her love of flying could be read on her face. When she flew, it was all about fun and abandon and _passion_. Just like she had in her dream, she acknowledged that when Malfoy flew, it was _impassionate_ and, frankly, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

More than a half hour passed. Though her legs cramped and went to sleep and the cold touched her all the way to her bones, she could not bring herself to look away. There was nothing showy about how he flew, but she was enchanted by it. She wanted to burn the image of him flying into the back of her mind, so that when she closed her eyes tonight she could relive it again.

Smiling faintly to herself as she watched him, she almost didn't realize he was making a beeline toward the tower where she hid. Eyes widening, she made to scramble for the exit, but it was too far and she was too late. She froze as he came to hover just above her hiding spot, as though hoping that if she didn't move, he wouldn't acknowledge her presence. She slowly directed her gaze upward and flinched when she saw he was leaning down on his broom to peer at her curiously.

In one smooth movement, he lowered himself, adjusting so that he could leap off neatly and onto a bench. He approached her with that same curious look on his face. "Did you _really_ think I wouldn't know it was you, Weasley?" he guffawed and then, on a more malicious note, he added, "The cheap parchment, the uncultured handwriting, the inbred owl? It was either you or your unfortunate brother, and _he_ hasn't been trying to watch me during practice."

Ginny gaped, horrified and offended that she had been seen through so easily. Her cheeks colored hotly, but all she could come up with for an indignant reply was, "I wasn't trying to watch you." She wanted to slap herself straight after the words left her mouth.

He cocked one pale eyebrow. "Right then, Weasley," he said, and she grimaced, "Would you perhaps care to explain why you owled begging to see me fly?"

"It wasn't begging!" Ginny retorted, her irritation and embarrassment mounting. She took a deep breath. "I'll be honest, Malfoy." She crossed her arms over her chest. "From one Quidditch player to another, I admire the way you fly."

He seemed taken aback for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Good that you recognize your betters," he sneered.

Ginny rolled her eyes, but for some reason she was rooted to the ground before him. He towered over her, on the bench like he was, and it made her feel somewhat intimidated. Oddly enough, as if sensing her discomfort, he stepped off of it and onto level ground with her. Still, he was a good foot above her, but at least now the difference was less obscene. "You're not _better_ than me, Malfoy. Your way is just different."

He cocked his head to one side, and Ginny felt as though she should be fanning her face despite the cold day. She cleared her throat awkwardly. Suddenly, he asked, "What do you like about it?"

Ginny blinked, shocked at the surprisingly civil question. She found herself answering carefully but truthfully, "You're perfectly still when you fly." Her words were slow, even to her own ears. "It's like you control the broom with your thoughts instead of your body." She looked up to him, startled when she saw the intense look he was giving her.

He seemed to catch himself when their eyes met, and his face cleared immediately. He let out a loud, unpleasant laugh. "Sounds like you have a crush, little weasel," he smirked, "Controlling my broom is not the only thing I can do with my body."

Ginny wanted to slap his smug face. She had given him the fruit of her observations, and of course he had gone and dirtied them. "Oh, just burn in hell, Malfoy. Forget it." His seemed to sour, but Ginny didn't care. He was only worth paying attention to if he was on his broom, and even that was pushing it. She turned to leave, intent on keeping as much of her pride as possible—though there was very little left to salvage at this point. She was halfway down the stairs of the tower before he said anything.

"Meet me here again in two days, Weasley," he called, "I'll fly for you some more." Despite her anger, her stomach did a little flip, and she decided she must be hungry.

**Author's Note: Briefly, I am referring to two distinct definitions of "impassionate"; the first is a descriptor, to describe someone as impassionate, as Ginny does here. The second is a verb-to impassionate.  
**

**I was going to post this as a one-shot, but it was getting far too long. I've decided to separate it into two parts. Part II will be up by next week.  
**

**This was inspired by one of the last episodes of an anime called Chihayafuru 2. For those of you that watch it, I'm a hardcore Chihaya/Arata fan!**

**Review and let me know what you think! Pretty please.**


	2. Chapter 2

Impassionate

| PART II |

Against her better judgment, Ginny found herself back in her spot on the stands two days later, this time sitting in open view atop the bench instead of under it. When Malfoy strutted out onto the field, he aimed his eyes right at her and gave her a grin that could only be described as arrogant. Ginny realized that that was the closest thing to a smile that she had ever seen on his face, and he didn't look quite so severe with it on. Still, she harrumphed, promptly flipped him her middle finger, and then settled her hands back in her pockets where they would stay warm.

He didn't fly for as long as he had the last time. Much too soon for Ginny, he was lowering himself down next to her, seeming far too satisfied. "You're done already?" she asked, trying to cover her nervousness with feigned annoyance, "You made me come all the way out here for not even twenty minutes?" She flipped her hair. She had seen Lavender do that in front of boys before and they had always gone tongue-tied. Not that she wanted to make Malfoy tongue-tied.

She stifled a small flare of disappointment when he didn't miss a beat. "Eager, aren't you, Weasley? But I think it's your turn to give me a little show." She shot him a confused look, and he explained, "Go for a fly."

Incredulous, she blurted, "I can't." She wasn't here for him to watch her! She hadn't come prepared for this. "I didn't bring a broom, and I'm wearing a skirt. There's no way."

Malfoy shook his head. He held out his broom to her, and Ginny's eyes widened, wondering if he was suggesting what she thought he was. "Just fly below the stands. I don't want to see your knickers." When she didn't reach for the broom, he rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on Weasley, I know you've never touched something this expensive, but let's get on with it."

Huffing, Ginny stood, snatching the broom from him. Their fingers brushed and a thrill of something ran through her—but it was probably because of the even finish of the broom handle, and not because of anything else. "Fine then, Malfoy. Since you insist, I'll run it into a tree for you." She moved away from him, anxious as he sat, regal and expectant on the bench she had vacated.

Carefully, she mounted the broom, arranging her skirt so that it was not indecent. It felt different from the brooms she had flown before—it was definitely more balanced, but it twitched with energy under her fingertips. She launched herself upward and then hurriedly descended below the stands so that Malfoy would not have the chance to look up her skirt. It was much faster than anything else she had flown. She leaned forward, keen to test its speed. A smile broke out on her face as she carried it through a lap around the pitch. Her hair whipped around wildly, but the sensation of being in the air was exhilarating.

Finally, laughing from delight, she brought the broom to a standstill, hovering near the center of the Quidditch field, enjoying the tremble of the broom beneath her. Remembering the broom's owner, she looked back at the stands, and the smile disappeared from her face when she saw Malfoy watching her intently, his eyes both appraising and penetrating.

Tearing her gaze away, Ginny took the broom for another lap, trying to compose herself before taking it back to him. She attempted to gather her wits. He was probably just making sure that she wasn't damaging his broom. It really was an expensive piece of equipment, after all.

She gently guided the broom over to the stand where he sat, waiting. He stood as she alighted, taking the broom from her with a nod. "You fly well," he said curtly.

Ginny blushed. "Your broom flies well, too."

He sat, and Ginny had the impression that he was inviting her to sit as well, but she still made sure she sat a fair distance away from him. "You're very lively when you fly," he said aloud, as though musing.

She found herself agreeing. "I noticed it the other day, when I was watching you fly."

"Really, now?" He leaned back, bracing himself with his elbows on the bench behind him. Ginny gulped; her throat was oddly dry. She had never seen Malfoy in such a relaxed posed. He was all lean angles, every inch the Quidditch player, and his uniform fit him very well.

She purposefully stared down at the grass that carpeted the Quidditch pitch, still green from summer. "I fly with passion, but when you fly it's impassionate."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Ginny found herself surprised by how easy it felt even though her stomach was fluttering. "Impassionate can have multiple meanings," he replied, rising. "Meet me here again after next week's game." It was an order and Ginny bristled a bit at his tone.

But she didn't say anything, because they both knew she would be there anyway. It would be Slytherin versus Hufflepuff, if she remembered correctly, and there was no way she would be missing it or him afterward.

* * *

Ginny's heart was pounding as she scuffed her feet against the wooden floor of the stand, crammed up against the railing with a front row view of the year's first Quidditch match. The other towers that surrounded the pitch were packed full of students from both competing houses adorned in their team colors, cheering excitedly although the game had not yet begun. Besides that, there were a great many Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in the crowd as well, though they were much tamer in comparison.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team had been out here a full half hour before the match began to secure prime spots. Slytherin were their only real competition for the Quidditch Cup and Harry wanted the entire team familiar with Slytherin's notoriously dirty playing style and sneaky strategies. The Boy Who Lived himself was standing next to Ginny, notepad and auto-ink quill in hand, ready to take apart Slytherin's every move today.

Ginny wasn't only here to analyze the Slytherins the way the rest of her team was. She gripped the railing with one mitten-clad hand. Malfoy would be flying today. She would be able to see him in action. She surveyed her surroundings. Some of the other Gryffindors had donned Hufflepuff scarves or yellow headbands to show which team they rooted for. Ginny herself carried a yellow handkerchief that she would wave like a flag once things heated up. She didn't want to support Slytherin, regardless of her apparent fascination with Malfoy's flying ability. But maybe if it was possible to cheer for a single person rather than the entire team…

The game commenced with a bang. Madam Hooch had barely unstrapped the balls before they zoomed past her hands in every direction, almost too quick to follow with the eyes. The players moved just as fast, Slytherin gaining possession of the Quaffle within the first minute. Although she herself was a Chaser, Ginny's attention was on Malfoy, frantically following him around the field as he glided in search of the Snitch. Her breath was hitched as she watched him. If she had thought his flying was beautiful when he flew for leisure, it was even more so when he had a purpose.

Slytherin scored several times within the first forty-five minutes, with Hufflepuff barely managing to keep up. Surprisingly, they were not losing so bad that the game was uninteresting; though Slytherin dominated, Hufflepuff had several new players who showed promise. Ginny's yellow handkerchief, however, lay forgotten in her pocket.

When, in the ninetieth minute, Malfoy caught sight of the Snitch, Ginny was the first to realize it. He stopped his patrol around the field abruptly, his eyes focused on something in the distance, near one of the towers. Inexplicably, he shot her a glance, removing his eyes from the target to meet hers for a split second. His lips curved into a smile that predicted victory, and Ginny found herself smiling back.

And then he was off, faster than Ginny had ever seen him fly. Within a few seconds, the entire stadium was focused on Malfoy in hot pursuit of the Snitch. The Hufflepuff Seeker dipped into the chase as well, but Ginny knew he wouldn't be able to catch up. The blonde Slytherin swerved and spun with that same perfect surety Ginny had come to know, and when he reached out his gloved hand to grab the little golden ball, Ginny was already clapping, jumping up and down at his success.

The Slytherins went wild. Malfoy held the Snitch up, firmly gripped in his hand, a winning smirk on his face. He took his broom down to the ground where he was promptly tackled by his overjoyed teammates. There was a massive exodus of Slytherins from the stands, and they surrounded him, taking him from her sight for the first time in the entire match.

Ginny settled down, a toothy grin on her face, but she sobered immediately when she saw the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's puzzled looks. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out the yellow handkerchief, holding it up to them with a weak smile. They shook their heads and joined the migration of disappointed Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs heading down the tower stairs and back to the castle.

* * *

The Quidditch stadium was empty. Ginny waited, somewhat uncertainly, on the bench where she and Malfoy had met before, curling herself up against the cold that came with sunset. She had stayed behind after the game, as per Malfoy's order, but maybe, she reasoned, she should have joined the rest of the Gryffindors for dinner instead. Malfoy was probably celebrating with his teammates right now. He had likely forgotten all about her.

She was just about to leave when he appeared. "Weasley," he called from the railing. He was on his broom, still in uniform. He looked disheveled, his hair windswept, but he was there and Ginny couldn't stop the smile that dawned on her face.

She climbed down toward the railing, placing her hands on it. "Congratulations."

He smirked. "You were cheering for me."

Ginny chuckled and pulled out the yellow handkerchief she had half-heartedly shown her teammates earlier, giving it a small wave. "Wrong," she sang, surprised at her own teasing tone.

He snorted and then he smiled. Ginny felt her knees wobble unexplainably at the sight. "Get on," he said. He moved the broom parallel to the railing.

"Seriously?" she asked, stepping back, "I've never ridden with someone before."

"This is a onetime offer," he said, that smile still on his face, "Take it or leave it."

Ginny took it; it was not every day a smiling Draco Malfoy offered to let you fly with him. A bit of nimble climbing and a hand placed on his firm shoulder allowed her to maneuver herself onto the broom behind him. There was hardly enough space for them both, and so she found her thighs pressed against the back of his legs, her chest against his back. Sporting brooms were not made to be ridden by two people, but his only sunk a few inches with her added weight.

"Hold on to me," he said from in front of her. Somewhat tentatively, she wrapped her hands around his waist. His shoulders were broad and his body warm. She had never touched him before and this sudden proximity made all the blood rush to her face.

When he took off at a speed, Ginny gave a start, tightening her grip on him and pressing her cheek to his back. She took a deep breath as he steered them upward, higher than the Quidditch goalposts, almost to where a few fat clouds sat in the sky. He smelt of the wind that whipped past them, catching in their clothes and hair.

Flying with him was like floating. As he settled into a cruising speed and Ginny peered down at the grounds of Hogwarts below them, she realized that she would not have known she was on a broom if not for the solid wood she held between her legs. When he dived down suddenly, she might as well have been falling, and when he turned, Ginny would've had no idea if she hadn't been looking. Smiling absently, she closed her eyes, letting him take them as he would.

But by the time Malfoy brought them down for an easy landing, Ginny's smile had degenerated into a frown. Her chest felt tight as they dismounted and he turned toward her with a proud grin. "Did you enjoy it?" he questioned.

Ginny could only nod. 'Enjoy' was an understatement when it came to describing how she had felt and how she still felt. She didn't know what to say to him, so she didn't say anything.

"Good! Meet me again before your game next week. Bring your broom so we can do a warm up together. About two hours before should be fine."

Again, she didn't reply. He noticed her frown.

"Did you hear me, Weasley? I said; meet me before the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game." He cocked his head at her, puzzled by her lack of response, but then he rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Be there."

Ginny watched him stroll away, dumbfounded. She placed a hand over her traitorous heart. Maybe she should have seen this coming. She loved Quidditch, she loved flying, and now she loved Draco Malfoy, too.

* * *

She had stood him up.

Ginny thought of it, distracted even as the stadium erupted into applause. Harry, thank Merlin, had caught the Snitch, a mere seventy minutes into the match. And it had taken him long enough, too, what with the Gryffindor Chasers in the state that they were. She chewed her lip worriedly as she brought her broom down to join the swarm of celebratory students that had swamped the pitch in the minutes after their win. A few of her teammates shot her dangerous looks, but were quickly occupied with their joyous housemates. Ginny, for her part, chewed her lip worriedly, slinking off to the locker room while deftly evading being carried away to the castle with the rest of her team.

She sat down hard on a bench, rubbing her temples. In the days since her and Malfoy's last meeting, she had been in a daze of disbelief and denial. She had been avoiding him to the point that she had started waking up an hour early for breakfast just so she wouldn't have to be in the Great Hall while he was. If she saw so much as a glimpse of silver blonde hair or green-trimmed Slytherin robes in the corridor, she would find herself instinctively ducking behind statues and suits of armors, sometimes running down passageways in the opposite direction of where she needed to be. It wasn't like he would speak to her publically—this much she knew. It was just that if she so much as thought of him, her palms grew clammy and her heartbeat erratic—she couldn't imagine what would happen if she actually _saw_ him.

And this morning she had woken up in a cold sweat, her heart racing from a dream of him atop his broom, one moment pursuing her relentlessly to the horror of her Gryffindor housemates and the other fleeing her with scorn on his face. The fact that she had a Quidditch match to compete in that day had been but a niggling thought in the back of her mind. She'd wrung her hands and procrastinated, showing up late to Harry's pre-game pep-talk in her determination to evade Malfoy. Of course, she had been berated in front of the entire team—Harry did not show favoritism when it came to Quidditch, even to his best friend's little sister—and Ginny had attempted to look suitably regretful. But at that time she had only felt relief.

The noise from outside the locker room gradually receded, leaving Ginny in relative silence. She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself. It would be okay as long as she didn't meet Malfoy anymore. If only she could have kept her feelings in check, maybe she and Malfoy could have become friends. Ginny shook her head, realizing that there was no use lying to herself. She had probably liked Malfoy from the beginning. Those feelings that had washed over her when they had flown together were not the type of feelings that simply appeared out of nowhere. And they were not the type of feelings that would disappear easily, either.

She couldn't let Malfoy know she felt that way. He would find her silly, and she would probably be mocked. And he was captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. She would be considered a traitor to her team, to her house, perhaps to her very family. "I have to avoid him," she reaffirmed out loud. It felt good to hear herself say it.

"Well, well, well, I see you're aspiring to avoid me."

Ginny stiffened at the sound of his voice, her head snapping around to where he stood leaning casually against a row of lockers. He looked impeccable, with his light hair falling onto his forehead and his perfectly pressed Slytherin robes. His face was unreadable, but the glare he had fixed her with made her heart run wild. Those were angry eyes, though nothing else about his expression or posture suggested that he was anything but at ease.

Her eyes flitted around rapidly, looking for some way to escape, and then returned to him, afraid to let him out of sight for too long. She couldn't be here with him. She rose slowly, like an animal that hoped it wouldn't be noticed if it made no sudden movements. He frowned and she froze.

"Don't even think of trying to escape, Weasley. I will catch you."

Adrenaline coursed through her, both from her panic and from the challenge. Without thinking, she made a break for the door, hopping over the bench and away from him. He moved quickly after her and caught her not far from the exit, slamming her against a row of lockers and caging her in with his considerably larger frame. She kicked and threw her fists a few times, as if on instinct, but he caught them, wedging himself between her legs in what, after a few huffing breaths, she realized was a remarkably intimate position.

He was breathing hard too, and his cheeks had flushed pink. She turned away, not wanting to see his face, feeling guilty for standing him up and then for running away from him. He snarled at her refusal to look at him. "You'd think I was trying to kill you or something."

"Let me go," she requested in a small, pleading voice. His hands held her wrists fast, and she was certain they would bruise if he didn't let up.

"No, I won't. Not until you explain why you are behaving like this. It is absolutely uncouth." When she didn't reply, he sighed. She felt her heart flutter at the sound. "Why didn't you come today?" She pressed her lips together, not looking at him or acknowledging his question. It was all she could do to keep herself from going light-headed, close together as they were. His scent filled her head. "I _waited_ for you, Weasley. I don't wait for anybody."

She glanced up at him, then, shocked that he would admit to waiting for her. Her eyes caught his, and she couldn't draw her gaze away. She was sure she would collapse if he moved, her knees weak and wobbly. "I'm sorry," was all she could say. She wanted to escape.

His grey eyes seemed to darken further. He was leaning in, his forehead almost touching hers. "Remember I told you 'impassionate' can mean different things?" She nodded, and their noses brushed. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure he could hear it. "The first meaning, the one you use; it means to be without feeling." His lips ghosted over hers and she tasted his breath. She wanted him to press his mouth against hers just as much as she wanted him to release her, but instead he kept talking. His voice was quiet. "And then there's _impassionate_. There's how you make me feel. How you make me want to touch you and kiss you, to make you smile and laugh. _That's_ the impassionate I am."

She swallowed hard, still unable to remove her eyes from his. His look reminded her of that day on the pitch when he had let her fly his broom; that unsettling stare that had admired and _longed_ for her. "Malfoy…" she whispered, awestruck that maybe, just maybe, the two of them felt the same way.

As if spurred into action, he swooped down to catch her mouth with his, kissing her firmly. His lips were soft but commanding and his tongue quickly found its way to hers, caressing and tantalizing. He released her hands and she immediately put her fingers into his hair, mussing the silky strands, reveling in them as he led their kiss.

When he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, Ginny let out a sound that made her blush. He pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and she stared up at him, a silly and rather embarrassed smile on her face. His eyes were still hooded and intense from their kiss, and Ginny wondered what hers must look like. Drunken, she'd bet. She probably looked like she had been thoroughly and well snogged.

Still holding her close, he opened his mouth to say something—

_BANG. BANG. BANG._

The loud and violent knocking sent them flying apart, panic-stricken. "The door," Ginny gasped, rushing to it without thinking. She pulled, trying to open it, rattling it when it refused to budge.

"Wait, wait," Malfoy cut in, pulling her away, "I put a locking charm on it." He took out his wand, muttering a quick few words. An audible _click_ was heard, followed by a crash and clatter as several members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team slammed open the door, tumbling into the doorway.

Ginny gaped. Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean and a crowd of others blinked at her. Their eyes moved to Malfoy, and hostility immediately erupted. Ron was the first up, charging at Malfoy with a fist. The Slytherin managed to dodge him, almost tripping over a bench in the process.

"Stupefy!" Ginny shouted, her wand in her hand even before she had realized it. The red beam was aimed at Ron. Her brother's entire body locked up, and he collapsed onto the floor, none too softly. "STOP!" she ordered, rounding on the remaining Gryffindors who were just clamoring to their feet, "The next one of you that moves will be at the receiving end of my Bat Bogey Hex." They froze at her threat. She made sure she placed herself in front of Malfoy so that no one tried anything funny.

After a moment's pause, they all started speaking at once, pointing animatedly at Malfoy, at Ron, expressing their concern for Ginny's well-being. Harry Potter's authoritative voice won out. "We couldn't find you and you were acting weird all day. When you weren't at dinner and neither was Malfoy, I knew he was up to something. We tried to get into the locker room to see if you were there, but the door had some sort of charm on it that no one knew how to counteract. Merlin, Ginny, are you alright? What did he do to you?"

Ginny opened her mouth and then shut it when she realized she had no idea how to explain.

Minerva McGonagall chose that moment to brush her way past the crowd of Gryffindors that stood around the entrance to the locker rooms. Her robes swished, but her face was furious. It was only then that it truly dawned on those present how exactly this situation appeared. Ronald Weasley lay wide eyed, enraged, and Stupefied on the floor. Draco Malfoy, the only Slytherin present, looked flushed, his hair messy, his robes slightly askew—one could have wagered he'd just been in a tussle. And Ginny Weasley stood amidst it all, wand in hand, her lips and wrists bruised.

"Lower your wand, Ms. Weasley." The woman's voice was like ice as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. "Are you hurt?"

Ginny took a moment to register what she was being asked, what the implications of McGonagall's question was. "NO!" she found herself saying a little too emphatically. She calmed herself. "No, I'm not hurt at all." She stepped back, suddenly having the urge to be closer to Malfoy.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Would someone please explain to me what is going on here?"

Ginny felt as though she was mute. She glanced over to Malfoy to find him looking equally flabbergasted. He shrugged at her, and a surge of whispers from the gathered Gryffindors threatened to reignite the previous aggression.

"Silence," McGonagall ordered, "Since no explanation seems forthcoming, I will have to remind you of the previous caveat that Professor Snape and I discussed with you all. If you will recall, if any sort of physical dispute—" she looked pointedly and Ginny and Malfoy's disheveled appearances, and then down to the still Stupefied Ron, "—were to break out between the members of the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams, the punishment would be the dismantling of said teams." She paused, allowing that information to sink in. "In light of the circumstances, I believe I will have to put this punishment into effect."

A chorus of outraged voices burst forth, some placing the blame on Malfoy, some insisting that nothing had happened at all, all of them in protest. Ginny felt as though a bucket of cold water had just been thrown over her. McGonagall swiftly freed Ron from his magically induced bondage before turning to leave. For his part, Ron made no effort to stand; he seemed fossilized by the new turn of events, the look of horror on his face mirroring Ginny's.

"Wait!" she cried, her heart thumping, "I'll explain!" She steeled herself. Taking a deep breath, she started, "It's all just a misunderstanding. There hasn't been any fighting between Gryffindor and Slytherin." McGonagall crossed her arms over her chest, clearly in disbelief. "I Stupefied Ron myself. Ask anyone here; they saw me do it. It was over a family matter."

McGonagall seemed to consider for a second. "Granted, Ms. Weasley. That behaviour is still unacceptable at Hogwarts. Fifty points from Gryffindor. And unless you can explain Mr. Malfoy's involvement in all of this, including the state of your respective appearances, I am afraid that the ban on Quidditch for both houses is still in place."

Ginny closed her eyes. It could not get worse than having both teams unable to compete for a full year—nothing could be worse than that. "He's my boyfriend," she blurted. It seemed to take a second for that to sink in. Malfoy made a sound behind her that sounded a lot like a gulp. "We were snogging. That's why we look like this."

The locker room was so silent Ginny thought she could hear her blood rushing to her cheeks. Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. Finally, McGonagall cleared her throat, looking as close to mortified as Ginny had ever seen her. "In light of this new information," she began, addressing the rest of the crowd and adjusting her collar as though to mollify her awkwardness, "another fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor and fifty will be taken from Slytherin for inappropriate behavior. I will reinstate the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams since it does not seem like any real physical disagreement took place. But let this be a reminder of what the consequences may be should you decide to be violent with one another." Halfway out the door, McGonagall paused, considering. "And Ms. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy; there are other places more suitable to such…activities. Please reconsider your choice of location in the future."

The locker room was silent after McGonagall's departure. Ron still did not rise from his place on the floor, Ginny's admission seemingly just as bad as having Gryffindor disqualified from Quidditch. There were a great deal of confused murmurs and stunned looks. The discomfort was so thick Ginny wanted to wave her hand through the air in front of her to see if it parted like butter.

Malfoy seemed to compose himself first. "Merlin, Weasley. McGonagall just told us to get a room."

Harry choked out something that sounded oddly like a chuckle. A few others seemed to stifle grins, swallowing down laughter. There was no reaction from Ron, but Ginny did not expect him to be responsive for another few hours. A few people tentatively began to depart, but they looked her askance and Ginny knew she would have a lot to answer for once she was back in the Gryffindor Common Room. For now, she would focus on getting Ron up to the castle and, while she was at it, thinking out what she had just gotten herself into.

When Harry and several others came over to help her lever Ron up onto Seamus and Dean's shoulders, Malfoy spared her a small smile before making his exit. No one had acknowledged his presence after that last comment, and for that Ginny was glad. She suppressed a flutter of the purest happiness as her eyes followed him out of the locker room until he was out of sight around a bend.

He hadn't denied being her boyfriend and he hadn't even looked displeased.

Everyone would probably know that she and Malfoy were an item by morning. There would be countless rumors as to what had taken place, and they would both likely have to deal with a lot of shite from a lot of people. But for now, Ginny didn't care. Even if, come tomorrow, Malfoy decided he wanted no such arrangement, for now she was perfectly content.

The impassionate Draco Malfoy had become her boyfriend, and she would do what she could to keep it that way.

* * *

**Author's Note: Done! So this ended up taking much longer than expected to post. I really have no excuse for it since I haven't been doing much at all. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoyed. Leave me a review and let me know what you thought!**


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